


bound to you (so sweetly)

by nu-exo (Nekohime)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Anal Sex, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Familiars, M/M, Major Character Injury, NCT Ensemble - Freeform, Smut, Temporary Character Death, Warlocks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28989045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekohime/pseuds/nu-exo
Summary: Mark wiggled his toes, stretched his fingers, testing his muscles and the buzzing flow of his magic where it was intricately tied to Johnny, their connection lighting up briefly in greeting.He smiled, satisfied.  “Hi.”(or, Mark is a warlock with a wealth of power, and Johnny is his ever-faithful familiar)
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 19
Kudos: 179





	bound to you (so sweetly)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Poolies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poolies/gifts).



> For the lovely eda!!
> 
> Thank you so much for the commiss. and being so so patient :') I'm glad you like my writing enough to do so, and I hope you enjoy!!!

“Hey.”

Mark sucked in a shuddering breath, feeling crisp air fill his lungs, the cool kiss of autumn grounding him as his soul settled back into the corners of his body and he rose to consciousness. He blinked his eyes open slowly, squinting against the pale gray of the sky, lilac tinted spots of residual magic dancing in his vision for a moment before dissolving away under the press of muted sunlight.

Movement to his side drew his attention, and a shadow blanketed him as Johnny dropped into a crouch, a welcome reprieve for his eyes which he was still too out of it to think to block himself. Mark took another deep breath, letting the oxygen clear his head from the fog that sinking into Limbo left behind, his head lolling a bit as he turned to stare up into Johnny’s smiling face.

Mark wiggled his toes, stretched his fingers, testing his muscles and the buzzing flow of his magic where it was intricately tied to Johnny, their connection lighting up briefly in greeting.

He smiled, satisfied. “Hi.”

Johnny snorted, the sound somewhere between fond and amused, his amber eyes lighter today—closer to gold than brown—and positively _dancing_. “Welcome back.” He shifted his weight a little, reaching out a hand to comb long, gentle fingers through the mess of Mark’s hair, touch warm where it brushed Mark’s scalp, light where it grazed over an old scar. “How’d it go?”

Mark hummed, shrugging best he could while still sprawled on his back, eyeing what Johnny was wearing with a small frown while the rest of his faculties whirred back to full attention after hours of re-fortifying the ley line junction settled under their home. 

Johnny had changed clothes. He was dressed in black slacks and a simple black button-up, now, instead of the gray sweats he’d been lounging in when Mark set to his task that morning. It was the nicer stuff he changed into when they had guests. 

Mark wasn’t expecting any guests, though.

“Did someone come over?” he asked, pushing himself up into a seated position, sighing slightly when Johnny’s hands fell away from his hair, feeling the loss of touch.

Johnny smiled sweetly at the croak of Mark’s voice, dry from disuse, twisting to reach behind himself for a moment before facing forward again with a water bottle in hand—cool, tantalizing condensation forming a layer on the plastic in invitation. “Jungwoo and Sungchan.”

Mark blinked, frown deepening as concern bloomed in his belly.

“Jungwoo doesn’t come to this end of town unless something’s happened, especially unannounced. Is anyone hurt?”

“Three magic users stumbled into a patch of Soul Snappers on the edge of his territory last night,” Johnny said, a glitter of mean satisfaction flashing through his eyes even as his tone stayed matter-of-fact. “He found the three idiots a few hours ago being pulled into the ground by the plants and figured he should bring them here.” A pause and a conceding tilt of his head. “Well, Sungchan seems like the one who suggested that. I think Jungwoo wanted to pretend like he never found them.”

“Magic users…” Mark said slowly, “from the Assembly?”

“Looks like it,” Johnny hummed and _ah_ , that explained the petty satisfaction layering his voice. “They all had tokens on them, stashed away in hidden pockets to get around the Identification Rule.” His brow twitched around a smile. “The Snappers found them, actually, while they were trying to drag the bodies down for their roots. Coughed them back up because they can’t digest metal apparently.”

Mark snorted, the sound coming out harsher than intended with the implication of discovering men associated to the Assembly sneaking around the town’s perimeter in the dead of night—instead of marching up to his or Kun’s doors, similar to a flock of peacocks, like they normally would.

“If they’re with the Assembly then I think I’m with Jungwoo on this one,” Mark said. “The plants should’ve gotten to eat them. It’d serve them right for sneaking around where they don’t belong to be eaten by a bunch of overgrown Venus flytraps.”

Johnny laughed under his breath, the sound vibrating warmly through his chest, verging on a rumbling purr. He smiled at Mark, languid and pleased, radiating proud approval. The words, _that’s why I chose you, that’s why I’m yours, that’s why, that’s why, that’s why, and don’t forget it_ hanging in the air, unsaid but present, leaving Mark to shiver around his next breath.

“I thought you agreed to be more diplomatic than that,” he said, swaying a bit on the balls of his feet, all playful teasing.

Close, then far, then close again, his shadow stretching out behind him, warping. Ears and a curling, flicking tail one second, none the next.

“I thought you told them this place wouldn’t be barred to them,” Johnny continued, smile edging on a smirk. “That it wouldn’t become a haven for ‘undesirables’.”

“Sure,” Mark said, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt, looking over at Johnny who was watching him, still crouched. A big cat waiting, ever ready. Mark grinned. A little lopsided, a little feral, letting his magic flex and flare. Johnny’s eyes widened, then sharpened, his own smile taking an edge. “But I also told them what would happen if they overstepped. They won’t claim these men when we return them, anyway. It would’ve been the same as Jungwoo just leaving them to his plants.”

“They wouldn’t think of it that way,” Johnny pointed out, rising to stand as well.

Mark shrugged. “Probably not.” He stretched his arms over his head, feeling his spine pop and settle. From his periphery, he could see Johnny’s eyes dart down to the strip of skin his movement had exposed, the heat from his gaze burning a lovely path between the fading love-bites he’d sucked into Mark’s hip two nights ago. “It’s the price they pay for trying to break a deal _they_ wanted in the first place, though.”

 _The cost for trying to push_ , he didn’t say, _when they could just go on happily with their glass castle of an Assembly and the illusion that you and I never existed_.

◖◗

“I don’t suppose I can ask you to forget about the Soul Snappers,” Jungwoo said four hours later, when the men from the Assembly were back in their own bodies, Sungchan keeping a cool eye on them in case they woke, the dryad whorls of his base tree twining slowly over his skin in veiled anxiety. “You know, in exchange for helping you strengthen the town’s perimeter wards with some bramble spells. Since I think this has proven we need a little more protection than initially thought.”

Mark shivered, swaddled in a blanket Johnny had brought out while he’d been sunk back in Limbo bargaining with the Soul Snappers, his body feeling cold and oddly disjointed after spending so much time incorporeal. He sniffed, sipping slowly at the tea Johnny had made—a strong ginger for fortitude and warmth—shooting a quick look over at Jungwoo who was tactfully avoiding his eyes.

“What a generous offer,” Mark said, a corner of his lips quirking up. In his periphery, Jungwoo tilted his chin in an imperious little sniff, still not looking at Mark. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with how _illegal_ Soul Snappers are, would it?”

Because while lovely with large, broad, waxy green leaves and an inner glow to their lantern-like mouths, Soul Snappers were considered Class 3 contraband under the Assembly’s rules and would be enough to sanction “interference”.

Jungwoo scoffed, muttering under his breath that, “It’s ridiculous for _any_ plants to be illegal, they’re _living things_ for fuck’s sake,” before saying at a more normal volume: “Of course not. I’m offering out of kindness, because I’m _kind_. Though, if you _wanted_ to forget about the fact that I have a lovely little patch of clearly helpful Soul Snappers, I wouldn’t mind.”

Mark coughed out a laugh. Despite being from the same ancient grove, Jungwoo and Sungchan couldn’t have been more different in what side of themselves they showed to others. Where Sungchan enjoyed frolicking with some of the other magically inclined in town—like Chenle and his pack of mostly human terrors—Jungwoo generally kept to the outskirts of things, where he ran a nursery that was in season year ‘round.

He was uptight at best with humans, waspish at worst, and outwardly hissed at cars, construction sites, and anything related to human expansion.

He was also one of the first magical beings to approach Mark when he settled here, deeming Mark acceptable and offering a spritely succulent as a house warming gift while saying, _“It’ll help with your wards, since the ones you put up suck.”_

“Johnny and I can strengthen the magical borders ourselves,” Mark huffed, endeared and amused by this ancient nature spirit who still didn’t know how to haggle without threats. “Thanks for the offer, though, wanna try again?”

 _That_ finally got an irritated glare from the dryad, Jungwoo narrowing his eyes and scrunching up his nose. 

Mark returned it with a bright, guileless smile.

“What do you want?”

“Something stronger than bramble spells,” Mark said. “I wanted to work with you on coming up with new wards that would work with the natural greenery surrounding town. Something that ideally doesn’t destroy whatever it’s set into when triggered.” Mark tilted his head. “I’d need you to look over the sigil alignment and get the trees’ agreement. For _that_ , I won’t tell Kun,”—because he’d never rat anyone under his protection out to the Assembly— “about the Soul Snappers. Deal?”

Jungwoo pursed his lips.

“Fine,” he said, caving with a put-upon sigh, as if Mark’s offer wasn’t a good one where no plants were harmed. “Deal.”

Mark smiled. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Jungwoo snorted, then, “Where’s your familiar, by the way?”

“Johnny?” Mark asked, tilting his head. “He went out to do a quick patrol. He was worried about other possible breaches. Why?” 

“No reason,” Jungwoo shrugged. “You know, he nearly took my head off when he first answered the door. Scary loyal, that one is.”

Mark’s heart kicked in his chest, a smile pushing his cheeks up without thought. Johnny _was_ loyal. The one true constant in Mark’s life. “Isn’t he great?”

“Well,” Jungwoo snorted again, “that’s _one_ word for it. You _sure_ he’s not actually a demon in disguise?”

Mark hummed, hiding the softness in his expression by raising his mug and draining the last bits of his tea. He thought of the things Johnny would do for him, _had_ done for him. Things that others would probably shy away from. That they’d see as a threat. Things demons might not even do, their deeds driven by hunger and need, not decision and desire.

“Yeah,” Mark said eventually, smiling up at Jungwoo, a thick, satisfied sort of happiness coating his lungs. “I’m sure.”

◖◗

The cat showed up a day after Mark was born like an omen, drenched in shadow with golden suns for eyes.

It sat silently, having come in from who-knows-where, slowly assuming a more natural appearance as its bright gaze found Mark amongst the swaddle of blankets and flurry of midwives, never wavering once locked on.

Calm, still, waiting.

_“A familiar has chosen the second son of the Lee family!”_

Apparently that message broadcasted out over the intricate spiderweb of warlock families associated with the Assembly, and by the time Mark was five there’d been just as many attempts on his life—one of which took an aunt and uncle as collateral.

“You should get rid of it,” one of his mother’s friends whispered when Mark was thirteen and growing into his power—the ends of which were a bit like the sea: unknown and unseen. 

It was something Mark wasn’t supposed to hear. Something he wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t been _politely_ declined readmission to the academy all aspiring magic users were meant to attend. ( _“The other children avoid him. And the familiar…” a sigh, the old headmistress pursing her lips. “Unfortunately we believe it would be best if he not come back.”_ )

“He’s attached to it,” his mother said slowly, as if she were testing the words, the feasibility of the idea. “If we were to do that…”

“It hasn’t taken a human form yet, has it?” her friend pressed. “If it hasn’t, then there’s still time. You can declare it a demon. Sever the bond and kill the creature.”

Mark’s mother pressed her lips into a hard line around a hum.

A shiver rolled down Mark’s spine where he was tucked away in an alcove, out of sight and hidden by shadows his familiar had pulled around them both.

It was fear. Cold and sour, filling his body to the brim.

His mother was considering it.

 _“They’re guides,”_ she’d said once, spitting out the words like acid—though Mark had been too young to notice that at the time, _“for magic users they deem worthy. It’s...an honor to be chosen.”_

What a fucking joke.

The cat tucked against his side—more panther now than house cat in size—growled low in its throat, a rumble of a voice floating along the bridge of their connection and through his head. Comforting like the drizzle of honey over a fresh bruise.

 _Breathe, Mark, breathe,_ the voice said, his familiar soothing him with a gentle patience. _They can’t take me from you. I won’t let them._

_Why do they want to?_ Mark thought, the question, always lurking, rising to the surface all bright and demanding.

_Because I chose you. And they’re scared about what that means._

◖◗

“Is sending Johnny to deliver things to me meant to be a threat?” Kun asked, taking the seat next to Mark at the table their little meeting group had claimed outside at a cute new cafe—one Taeyong had chosen because of their sweets menu. 

Mark blinked, looking up from the chocolate croissant he’d been trying—and failing—to cleanly eat.

Kun was smiling, an eyebrow raised in playful amusement, but there was definitely a genuine question in there.

“Did he do something?” Mark asked back.

Across from him, Yuta snorted, eyes sharp as he observed Mark from over the edge of his coffee cup. “Is that a yes, then?”

Doyoung, sandwiched between Yuta and Taeyong and delicately munching on a plate of little tea cakes, scrunched his nose. “That would explain a lot.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “I don’t weaponize Johnny like that.” He plucked at a chocolate chip, a small smile quirking the corner of his lips. “Usually.”

Sicheng, an arm around the back of Yuta’s chair, laughed, Kun joining him with a huff.

“Seriously though,” Mark said, turning to Kun again, brows tilting up in concern. “Did he do something?”

“Not outright,” Kun said, amusement still dancing in his eyes. He was older than Mark by at least a decade but didn’t look a day over twenty-five, the magic flowing through his veins slowing his aging process to a crawl. “I don’t think he liked you coming back covered in Bandaids and bandages from our last restocking trip, though. Or the fact that he had to stay behind in the first place.”

Another snort from Yuta, this time accompanied by a loud bark of laughter. “Of course he didn’t. You wouldn’t like it either if it were Yukhei coming back looking like that—” he gestured at Mark’s entire being, encompassing the fading bruises and covered scratches he’d gotten from running into a team of poachers looking for any unfortunate magical creature traveling alone, “—from a trip with someone else.”

“I—” Kun paused, pursed his lips, thought about it, then puffed out a sigh. “Fair.”

“Speaking of, I’m surprised he isn’t here now,” Taeyong said, cheeks bulging with pastry, absently eyeing the remaining sweets on Doyoung’s plate.

“Oh,” Mark laughed, smiled, “no, he’s coming, he just—”

“Had to get something,” Johnny finished for him, their bond humming, bright and loud, signaling Johnny’s arrival just as he managed to successfully sneak up on most of their table—impressive even if Doyoung, Taeyong, and Sicheng insisted they were retired from the hunter lifestyle.

Kun snorted and Yuta bared his teeth playfully at the winsome smile Johnny shot their way as he came around to press against the back of Mark’s chair—clearly enjoying how all the humans assembled had flinched even if he hadn’t managed to get either of them to jump. Getting the drop on a warlock like Kun who specialized in detection magic, and a werewolf like Yuta whose senses were far stronger than what magic could smother would’ve been more than Johnny was expecting anyway.

“Hey,” Mark breathed, tilting his head up to look into Johnny’s face.

Johnny’s smile softened, gentle just for him as he leaned over in a possessive curl to drop a lingering kiss on Mark’s forehead. “Hi.” He slid a small to-go box onto the table by Mark’s elbow. “They had egg tarts today over at the bakery you like.”

The others were staring, Mark knew even without looking that they were. It made him smile. 

The attention was amused, if a bit—or a lot—exasperated. Fond. All of them used to the way Johnny and Mark wound around each other, with little room for others besides the space they allowed.

“Thanks,” Mark said, shuffling his seat over a little so Johnny could squeeze a chair in next to him.

Johnny’s lips curled a touch higher, cheeks pushing his eyes up into bright half-moons. “Of course, my pleasure.” Then, along their link, his own personal backdoor into Mark’s head: _Happy Birthday_.

Mark’s heart kicked in his chest. Out of sight, he hooked his right foot around the back of Johnny’s left ankle, his hand smoothly finding its place on Johnny’s thigh.

Mark never celebrated his birthday. It wasn’t a particularly happy day for him. But Johnny...Johnny always made sure to show him he remembered. ( _“Even if it hasn’t been good to you yet, your birthday will always be special to me. Always.”_ )

 _Thank you,_ Mark thought, feeling the depth of his gratefulness seep into their bond, making it buzz like a hummingbird along his skin where he’d inked their personal sigil at the base of his spine.

Johnny shifted closer, pressing the length of his thigh warm and firm against Mark’s while he brought an arm up to rest comfortably along Mark’s shoulders. A mirror of how Sicheng and Yuta were tucked against each other. A mirror in more ways than one, really. Werewolf and hunter, warlock and familiar. All things that shouldn’t go together but did.

“Since we’re all here then,” Doyoung prompted, bringing Mark’s attention back, shooting Johnny one more unimpressed look as he leaned forward to pluck up a napkin, “should we get down to it then?”

Sounds of agreement came from around the table, the air around their group shifting, sharpening.

Kun flicked a wrist, throwing up a quick dampening barrier around them to muffle sound, while Johnny let his magic stretch and crawl outwards, bringing the whole cafe into his field of tracking.

“The Assembly,” Taeyong started, pressing his lips into a line, “have been lurking more than usual.”

“Not just lurking,” Kun huffed, brows furrowing, arms crossing over his chest. “They’ve been _pushing_. We’ve caught at least four magic users trying to break through the protection wards on our side of town in the past two months.” He looked over at Mark, a grim set to his jaw. “All of them unmarked. All carrying small golden tokens bearing the Assembly’s seal hidden on their person.”

Mark sighed through his nose. “The same thing happened a few weeks ago on Jungwoo’s end, too. He found three Assembly magic users in one of his nursery patches.”

“And we caught a team of two stalking around the town’s edge last week when we were driving back from the city,” Taeyong sighed, sharing a glance with Doyoung. “It seemed like they were looking for a break in the wards.”

“You’re not sure?” Johnny asked, his countenance the calmest out of the seven of them.

“They sensed us coming and ran before they could actually do anything,” Doyoung grumbled, unconsciously cracking his knuckles. “Or we could catch them.”

Taeyong patted Doyoung’s thigh. “It was very frustrating.”

“Isn’t it a little risky?” Sicheng asked, frowning, fingers tapping against Yuta’s shoulder where it rested.

“What? Catching them?” Doyoung snorted. “Not really. Most warlocks I’ve met rely on their magic too much. Present company excluded, of course.”

Mark and Kun smiled, puffing out huffs of amusement. Sicheng shook his head.

“Not that, I meant the Assembly, and what they’re doing.” He looked right at Mark then, expression serious. “They have a deal with you, right? That’s why this town is the way it is? Isn’t this all toeing the line of breaking whatever agreement they made?”

Mark hummed, rolling out his neck. “It is. Risky _and_ toeing the line.”

“They’re agitated,” Kun said. “Something must’ve happened.”

Yuta clicked his tongue, roughing a hand through his hair, eyes flashing yellow-brown briefly in unrest. “Or something’s about to.”

Mark chewed absently on the inside of his lip, Johnny pressing closer to him in a silent offer of comfort. “Whichever it is,” he said, grim determination coloring his tone, “whatever it is, we’ll just have to be ready.”

Because he wouldn’t let the home he’d built—the home he’d _had_ to build—be shattered so easily.

Whatever the Assembly was up to, he’d crush it with everything he had.

◖◗

Things would have been easier if Johnny hadn’t chosen him. Not for Mark—no, things were set for him the second the fates decided he’d be a favored child of magic, with a deep well of power that no one he’d met could quite compare to.

But Johnny...things could have been better for him. He could have found a magic user with no connection to warlock politics. He could have had a gentler life. He could have—

 _It was you or nothing_.

Mark gasped, rising from the haze he’d been sinking into with a few rapid blinks. 

Johnny was looking up at him with eyes of rich, dark rum, intoxicating in their intensity. He was spread out before him on their bed, nearly naked, having lured Mark away from his workshop-slash-study where Mark had been holed up all day. He looked delicious, and somehow Mark’s mind had been drifting away from him.

Johnny smiled, sliding a heel up across the sheets so his knee was bent and pressing against Mark’s side.

 _Sorry, you were thinking so loud,_ Johnny sent across their link, voice rich as it curled through Mark’s head, sending shivers skittering down Mark’s spine, _I couldn’t help but overhear_.

Mark snorted softly, reaching down to smooth a hand over a large scar creeping over Johnny’s left hip and up to the bottom rung of his ribs. The result of protecting Mark from what had ultimately been a failed attempt on his life.

The skin just above Mark’s belly button itched faintly. A smaller scar from the same incident that was now just a pale white slash.

“A match set,” Johnny said aloud this time.

Mark laughed, slapping a hand against Johnny’s bent leg, getting him square on the flat of his thigh. “Stop slipping into my head.”

Johnny’s smile widened, eyes curving up. He shifted a little, muscles flexing under sunkissed skin as he propped himself up on an elbow, reaching a long, strong arm out for Mark. “Then talk to me. Don’t get lost up there.”

Mark huffed out another laugh, letting himself be gently tugged forward, sliding his body over warm, scarred skin—a mirror of his own at so many points—until he was close enough to press a lingering kiss to Johnny’s mouth.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Mark breathed, shuddering when Johnny moved his hand to cup the back of Mark’s neck, fingers curling into the hairs there, pulling him into another kiss. Deeper this time, with his tongue licking across the seam of Mark’s lips, asking for entry. “Mm, I’ll try to be better about it.”

“Or you could just talk to me,” Johnny chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest.

Mark quirked a smile, holding Johnny’s gaze for a beat before slowly lowering himself to nip at Johnny’s neck, the thin skin over his clavicle, the meat of his pec. “Or I could do that.”

Above him, Johnny stuttered out a breath, fingers spasming where they were still curled in Mark’s hair.

Mark grinned, pressing his mouth against Johnny’s skin, breathing in the everpresent scent of magic he associated with his familiar. Rosemary and lavender and something like crisp pines in winter.

He nosed at a pale scar shaped like a starburst spidering out over Johnny’s left shoulder, tracing it up to Johnny’s neck—an attack that was meant to kill, though whether it’d been for Mark or Johnny himself they still weren’t sure.

It drew another soft sound from Johnny’s throat, his hips grinding up in one long sinuous roll, pressing intently against Mark’s with a low groan. He was already hard despite how little they’d done yet, something Mark would always be in awe of: the fact that he could have this affect on someone like Johnny.

“So,” Johnny sighed, moving the hand in Mark’s hair down the line of Mark’s spine to press against the small of his back, holding Mark’s hips down so he could get more friction. “What was distracting you from my distraction?”

Mark groaned, his own hips twitching down, his half-hard cock filling out quick with the constant press of Johnny against him even through the thin layers of their boxer briefs. “Just— _hah_ —thinking.”

Johnny let himself be pushed back by Mark’s insistent hands, a small, self-satisfied smirk curling his lips as Mark pinned him by his arms, pressing him into the memory foam mattress they’d splurged on last Christmas.

Pleasure was simmering low in Mark’s veins, arousal licking a burning trail up his back and down to his toes as he rolled his hips against the prominent bulge of Johnny’s erection with purpose now, his mind turning to hazy white noise which nearly drowned out Johnny’s voice—rougher than usual—when he spoke.

“About— _mm,_ yeah, like that—what?”

“I—” Mark broke off on a laugh and a moan, Johnny’s hand having slid even lower, dipping under the elastic band of Mark’s boxer briefs—now wet with precum and stretching to accommodate his erection—to grope Mark’s ass, his broad palm cupping a cheek and _squeezing_. “You—” Mark panted against the already damp skin of Johnny’s neck, his entire being rapidly zeroing in on the need for more with a tingling sort of intensity, “you really— _fuck_ —want to talk about this _now?_ ”

“Sure,” Johnny breathed, and Mark looked up to see the lazy grin painting Johnny’s flushed face. “Why not?”

Mark huffed out a breath, fingers dancing down the ladder of Johnny’s ribs, digging into the spots he knew were ticklish, before tracing over the band of Johnny’s underwear.

“Sometimes,” Mark said, thumbing at the elastic where it crested Johnny’s hip, “I feel like you should’ve picked someone else.” He applied pressure, feeling Johnny’s skin dimple under his finger and the tingle of decay magic rising to his call. He thought of what Johnny’s nice boxer briefs were made of—elastic, cotton, spandex—and felt it give way, too. Withering to nothing so Mark could yank the rest of the now-useless material away. He ignored Johnny’s amused mumble of, _“Cheater,”_ and continued. “Someone safer. Someone—” he got a hand around Johnny’s cock—hard and red and drooling precum onto his own belly in thick globs—stroking him slow with a tight fist. “Someone you’d never have to die for.”

Johnny shivered under him, mouth parting on a low moan that carried through the otherwise silent bedroom, twining with the steady slick sounds of Mark working his hand over Johnny’s erection.

“Mark,” he sighed, breath catching in his throat. “I wouldn’t die for you.”

“Oh?” Mark started to kiss his way down Johnny’s chest, making sure to lick and suck a trail starting at Johnny’s nipples and ending at the tender skin just below his navel, where his soft hairs grew thicker, darkening into a line. “I don’t think I believe that.”

He’d be less worried if he did.

“I wouldn’t,” Johnny gasped, his back bowing off the bed as Mark licked at the base of his cock, mouthing his way up to the dripping tip, “because I know you’d— _ah_ —do something stupid, like try to— _fuck_ —bring me back.”

Mark hummed, slipping the head of Johnny’s cock into his mouth, tasting salt and skin and bitter precum before bobbing his head down as far as he could go on Johnny’s impressive length once, twice, tonguing at the thick vein running along the underside and hollowing his cheeks until Johnny was cursing under his breath, his own magic crackling in the air like lightning for a brief unrestrained moment. He pulled off with a purposely obscene pop to look for the lube they’d set aside earlier, finding it hidden under their rumpled comforter.

“I might,” Mark conceded, absently licking his lips free of spit and stray smears of precum while he squeezed a healthy amount of lube onto his fingers. “I’m strong enough to.”

“To what?” Johnny panted, flinching in surprise at the first touch of Mark’s slicked up index finger trailing down his cock, past his balls, to circle around his rim. “B—break universal laws? You—you’d die, Mark.”

 _It’d be worth the risk,_ Mark thought, firm, pushing the words into Johnny’s head at the same time that he eased his finger into Johnny’s hole, earning himself a sharp gasp.

Johnny’s eyes fluttered close, his muscles—which had gone taut at the initial intrusion—slowly easing up as Mark thrust his finger into him, occasionally curling it in search of Johnny’s prostate, methodical in his approach to fingering him open.

“I don’t want you dying for me either,” Johnny managed, voice coming out a touch strained, chased by a high keen when Mark slipped in a second finger alongside the first, scissoring Johnny open with practiced familiarity.

 _That’s why you should’ve picked a better partner_ , Mark thought, loud enough for Johnny to hear, too much of a coward to whisper the words into the rapidly heating air between them, already heavy with the damp of sweat and musk of sex.

“Th—there was no one else,” Johnny stuttered around a hiccuped groan, rolling his hips back and down as Mark finally slid in a third finger to thrust in earnest. There was fondness there, shading the edges of his tone. A warm, sticky almost-possessiveness that had Mark shuddering, relishing in the dark, hazy gaze he could feel heating his face. “No one—ngh—no one’s magic sing’s t—to me like yours does.” Johnny paused on a whine, back arching, hard cock pulsing where it curved along his belly, grinding down on Mark’s fingers as he rubbed against Johnny’s prostate. “ _Fuck_ , there was no one but you,” he gasped, fists clenching in their sheets, grip white-knuckled, muscles spasming, tightening up like a vice. “No one but you, Mark.”

Mark’s heart, thudding fast in his chest both from the overwhelming love he felt for the man in front of him and the sheer amount of arousal coursing through every inch of him at the spectacle of Johnny coming undone, stumbled over a beat.

“Why’re you like this?” he mumbled mostly to himself, pulling his fingers free from Johnny’s hole with a wet squelch and a groan. 

He finally yanked his own underwear off, scrambling out of it with a grunt of frustration, careful to not accidentally overbalance and face plant against Johnny’s groin or elbow him somewhere soft. Now fully naked—his cock hanging heavy between his legs and throbbing in time with his pulse—he reached for the lube again.

Mark wasn’t huge, at least not as big as Johnny was, but he was still on the larger end of average—not too girthy, but enough length to get in deep. It meant he had to tip a little extra lube into his hand, enough to make his cock slick and messy, a few drops getting onto the sheets and Johnny’s skin. He shuffled on his knees a bit, rearranging Johnny’s legs around him, patting Johnny’s hip to signal for a pillow so Mark could slip it under Johnny’s body—just below the small of his back.

“Good?” Mark asked, positioning the head of his cock at Johnny’s hole, pushing the blunt tip forward ever so slightly.

Johnny licked his lips, cheeks flushed, eyes vibrant, long muscled body covered in a sheen of sweat, his constellation of scars a testament of his dedication towards Mark.

He held out a hand to Mark, twining their fingers when Mark slid their palms together. Magic fizzled in the air like soda bubbles, crackling under Mark’s skin like pop rocks. Slowly, starting from their clasped hands, ink-like markings began to spread down Johnny’s arm. Beautifully dark bands that traced his musculature and the bones underneath.

Johnny grinned, eyes flashing yellow-gold, pupils narrowing to feline slits. “Yeah. Good.”

Mark had been so focused on Johnny—touching him, kissing him, working him up—that he hadn’t realized how wound up he was himself. Heat sizzled through his veins, white hot in intensity when he started to push in, Johnny’s body offering little initial resistance. When the head of his cock popped past Johnny’s rim, they both shuddered out a sigh, need throbbing deep in Mark’s gut at the wet heat that greeted him.

Johnny shifted under him, trying to leverage his hips down to slide further onto Mark’s cock, mouth dropping open on soft pants.

“Don’t, _hah_ , drag it out. Please. Need you to— _oh_. _Fuck_.”

Mark slid in until his hips were flush with the firm plush of Johnny’s ass in one smooth thrust, the lube he’d slathered on squelching obscenely in the otherwise quiet of their bedroom.

Every single muscle on Mark’s body had gone tense like a strung bow, eyes fluttering shut. Johnny was tight. Even with prep, his walls still hugged Mark’s cock like a vice, so close to the edge already that he was probably a few clever touches away from coming all over himself.

Which was fine, because Mark wasn’t doing much better, pleasure lighting up every nerve, sending his senses into overdrive.

He forced himself to focus and let his magic flow through to his muscles, though, giving himself enough strength to hike Johnny’s hips further up, letting go of Johnny’s hand to get him into an angle that they knew felt better from plenty of trial and error.

Johnny sighed out his appreciation, legs tightening where they were wound around the cinch of Mark’s waist.

His markings had made it down to his thighs and up past his ribs, now, the spark of his magic merging with Mark’s, scenting the room with rosemary and pine and the sharp sting of earthy basil.

“Move,” Johnny told him, urging Mark with a press of his heels.

Mark garbled out a sound of compliance, hips stuttering back before shoving forward again to joint moans and a frisson of pleasure surging up from the base of Mark’s spine, lodging itself deep in his chest to catch flame.

Time just about slipped away from there.

“You feel so good,” Mark groaned, fucking into Johnny with swift strokes, the sharp sound of skin slapping against skin joining the mess of their desperate breathing. “ _Fuck_ , you look so good too. Taking my cock so well.”

The sound that rumbled out of Johnny’s chest was less human than beast. Something primal that vibrated through the air and sent sparks of raw magic skittering over Mark’s skin like little kisses.

Mark felt like he was on fire, his muscles aching sweetly, arousal coiling so tight in his gut he knew he was close to coming.

He wanted Johnny to come first, though. Wanted to see him unravel on his cock. He said as much, fingers digging into Johnny’s thighs hard enough to bruise, head dropping between his shoulders, breathing ragged and leaving him lightheaded.

Johnny growled in answer, the sound going straight to Mark’s dick, and suddenly Mark was being flipped, the air knocking from his lungs as he hit the bed dangerously close to the edge, Johnny now on top of him.

“Wanna come on your cock, too,” Johnny breathed, looking down on Mark with glowing, inhuman eyes, long, strong body beautifully traced in thick black lines that flowed with magic. He rolled his hips down in a slow, sinuous, torturous grind, back arching and mouth dropping open on a stupidly attractive moan when the angle of Mark’s cock shifted inside him, rubbing across his prostate. “I want _you_ too. Come on, Mark.” He rolled his hips down again, clenching around Mark hot and tight. “Make me come.”

If asked, Mark would deny the almost painful high keen that ripped out of his throat. It pitched high enough to have his voice cracking even as his hands moved to Johnny’s hips, feet sliding over the bed to give him enough leverage to fuck up into Johnny’s pliant body, buzzing with the knowledge that Johnny loved this best.

Loved getting to pin Mark while Mark fucked him. Loved knowing that Mark was always happy to allow Johnny to loom, to take control, to have his way.

That Johnny loved him, plain and simple.

Johnny’s face scrunched in pleasure as he met each of Mark’s thrusts, the thick muscles of his pecs jiggling ever so slightly with each bounce, his cock—hard and drooling precum from the way Mark’s dick was sliding against his prostate over and over and over again—slapping wetly against Mark’s belly.

Mark got a hand around Johnny’s cock, keeping the other at Johnny’s hip, and stroked him off hard and fast, matching the speed of their fucking until Johnny’s breaths were puffing out in desperate little pants.

“Fuck,” Johnny hissed, eyes squeezing shut, coming forward to splay his big hands over Mark’s chest, pressing against the modest muscle there for balance. “I think I’m— _fuck, Mark_.”

“‘S okay,” Mark slurred, the edges of his vision fizzling. He wondered absently if he looked as hazy, as flushed, as fucked out as Johnny did with color high on his cheeks. “Come, Johnny.”

Johnny’s fingers on Mark’s chest curled, nails digging into soft skin. His markings hummed, warping at the edges. He rushed forward, slamming his mouth against Mark’s in a hard kiss that was too much teeth and tongue and huffed out whines, still moving to meet the thrust of Mark’s cock and the tight circle of his hand, his need so clear.

He tensed, muscles visibly bunching, and then he was coming with a grunted out whimper, spilling across Mark’s abdomen and chest in thick, hot spurts.

Mark muffled a startled sound against Johnny’s mouth, hips stuttering and slowing to grind deep into the clench of Johnny’s ass, drawing out the last dregs of Johnny’s orgasm while chasing his own.

Johnny made the sweetest little punched out sounds, letting his weight blanket Mark, knowing Mark could take it despite being smaller. He tilted his head to suck and bite hickies into the tender skin at Mark’s neck, his shoulder, laving over them with his tongue.

Mark hiccupped, felt his dick throb, his balls tighten. He held Johnny tighter to him, the press of his hips more insistent.

Johnny moaned, rolled himself down despite the oversensitivity he had to be feeling, and then said on the most satisfied sigh, “My warlock,” before promptly biting down hard on the most sensitive part of Mark’s neck.

Mark came with a garbled shout, caught between a gasp of arousal and a sound of surprise. He spilled into Johnny’s body, feeling some of his cum leak out when Johnny shifted over him, dripping back down onto his own skin.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, catching their breaths, enjoying the afterglow, ignoring the sweat and cum drying tacky on their skin.

A type of happy exhaustion settled into Mark’s bones while he traced meaningless patterns along Johnny’s skin.

“You know,” he started, voice low, soft, trying not to break the delicate moment, “whatever the Assembly is trying to do, it probably involves us.”

Johnny sighed, breath fanning out over Mark’s skin. “I know.”

Mark nibbled on his lip, mulling over his words. “Probably trying to kill me again.”

Another sigh, this time accompanied by a kiss pressed to the juncture where neck met shoulder. “I know.” Johnny nuzzled close, the markings on his body slowly fading as the magic in the air settled. “I won’t let them.”

“I don’t want you getting hurt for me again.” Privately, kept from where Johnny could hear: _I don’t want you regretting being by my side_.

“I know. I’ll do my best.”

◖◗

The thing about being wrong, is that it usually doesn’t come in the form you expect.

See, the Assembly _had_ been planning a full breach of their wards. It _had_ had to do with Mark. What Mark hadn’t expected—what he _hadn’t even considered_ —was that he wouldn’t be the primary target.

“Fuck,” he spat, wiping away furious tears and cold rainwater, pressing his hands down over the worst of Johnny’s wounds, trying his best to stymie the flow of blood. “ _Fuck!_ ”

“Is he breathing?” Kun shouted, the veins in his arms pronounced from the strain of holding up a barrier under assault while also keeping charms in place to muffle sound and deter human approach. The team of magic users attacking them—decked out in full Assembly sanctioned attire now, robed in their pompous gold and purple—sent a vortex of magic careening their way, forcing Kun back a step with a harsh curse. “Mark, _is he breathing?_ ”

Anger and stress and fear filled Mark’s chest, clogging his throat. It was hard to think, to figure out what to do, to _help_ , his magic a roil of anxiety being pulled every which way.

“He’s breathing!” Taeyong shouted in his stead, startling Mark so badly with his sudden appearance that his magic pulsed, nearly pushing the hunter back from where he was crouching on Johnny’s other side.

“And Mark?” Doyoung shouted, eyes focused, modified rifle calmly aimed at the magic users attempting to advance on them, picking at their rapidly weakening defense barrier with frightening precision despite the downpour obscuring his line of sight.

Mark barely registered Taeyong staring at him through the rain, vision hazy, red tinting the edges as he pushed magic through his hands into the gaping holes splitting open Johnny’s chest—desperately trying to piece him back together, pulling hard from the opposite end of his energy spectrum.

Johnny had taken blasts of pure, scorching magic to multiple parts of his body, leaving his skin seared and blood flowing freely. It’d happened so quickly, the Assembly’s hit squad appearing seemingly out of nowhere, catching them off guard.

None of them—hunter or warlock—had been able to react fast enough to put up the defenses they had now.

Johnny had gone down before Mark could even blink, a fraction of the pain Johnny had felt lancing through Mark like lightning.

Mark choked out a sob, hands covered in blood, upping the steady stream of magic flowing along their connection into a roaring river. _Don’t go_ , he thought with everything he had. _Don’t go, don’t go, please don’t go_.

Across from him, Taeyong’s distressed sigh registered as a burst of static. His words, “He’s not doing so hot,” echoing oddly through Mark’s ears.

The red consuming his vision spread, the tips of his fingers turning purple.

He gasped, yanking his hands back before the decay and deconstruction gathering there—responding to his fury—could touch Johnny.

He couldn’t focus. There was too much noise, too much chaos around him. He felt like he was burning up from the force of his own rage, the power humming at his core thrown into disarray, filling his lungs until he couldn’t breathe.

Johnny was dying, choking up weak coughs of blood, eyes going glassy, and Mark _couldn’t breathe_.

There was a thunderous crack—the sound of a barrier being broken. Someone shouted. Along their bond, Johnny’s life, usually such a strong blaze, flickered like a candle one puff from blowing out.

Mark shuddered. The deep purple of his fingers crawled up to his wrists, his forearms. 

“Come on,” Mark whimpered, begging his magic to listen to him, to heal, to do what he desperately needed it to. “ _Come on!_ ” 

_Let me go, Mark_.

Mark froze, eyes snapping open. Johnny’s hand had moved, painstakingly slow, to brush Mark’s fingers.

He wasn’t looking at Mark, couldn’t move his head, but when he spoke through their link again his voice was clear.

 _Let me go_.

Mark shook his head, gasping back a sob. “No.”

 _You have to_.

“ _No_.”

 _You’ll die too, if you don’t_ , Johnny told him. _Please, Mark, let. Me. Go_.

Mark bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He gripped hard at Johnny’s fingers, bringing them up to his lips, forcing himself to inhale through the feeling of his magic curling across their touch, purple spreading like a stain.

“You’re not keeping your promise,” Mark said, voice thick.

 _I’m sorry._ Johnny squeezed Mark’s hand as best he could, his apology crushing Mark’s heart. _I love you_.

Mark tried not to whine, throat straining. 

_I love you too_ , he thought, pouring everything into those four words.

And then Johnny was gone.

What happened after that, Mark remembered in frames. Fragments of hurt and a cold wrath that ate him from the inside out.

Mark stood, body numb.

Taeyong shouted for him in alarm. Kun yelled something he couldn’t make out.

Power swelled through him, unfettered, shivering down his limbs in sharp cascades.

He remembered the smell of rotting leaves wafting up, a chill settling around them.

The rain had stopped. Droplets frozen in mid-air.

He’d raised his arm, energy crackling and popping, a bottle about to burst. And then it had all exploded outwards, a harsh blast of desecating magic flowing free, Mark’s body going light from the force of it. 

It rushed out, dancing past those it recognized as friend and going straight for those it picked up as foe, latching on and sapping the Assembly’s mercenaries of every last ounce of life lining their bodies, stripping a few down to bone.

When it was done—the Assembly’s hit squad nothing but rotted remains—Mark felt empty, power buzzing dully under his skin, the silence of his bond ringing in his ears.

The rain resumed, washing away the smell of moss and earth which accompanied _this_ aspect of Mark’s magic. 

Mark sat back down by Johnny’s side, picking up his familiar’s cold hand, cradling it in his lap while he returned to himself, aware of Kun checking over the dead Assembly men in the background while Taeyong and Doyoung swept the area for other threats.

He took a breath, tilted his head up towards the falling rain, closing his eyes against the heavy drops. 

Then, with an iron-like resolve, he got to work.

◖◗

Three days passed. Five. A week.

Mark mended the broken barriers, scrubbing out the magic that had infected and rewrote their defences in order to allow infiltration—the accumulated result of the Assembly’s previous attempts coming to fruition.

He sent the bodies of the men he’d killed back to the Assembly, gift wrapped in curses that would fester and spread, seeking out those involved to make them _hurt_.

Nine days. Twelve. Two weeks.

Mark stopped taking visitors and help requests, holing up at home, Sicheng and Yuta setting up temporary residence with him as an added layer of protection.

Two weeks became three became four. A month of Mark living with static on the other end of his bond while he slipped into Limbo again and again to negotiate, to talk to magic on its own playing field, to bargain for a life he wouldn’t leave without.

All the while, he kept pushing power through the link he was keeping in place through sheer force of will alone, drowning Johnny’s body in every ounce of life and renewal energy he could dredge up, tapping so heavily into one side of his magical spectrum that the air of the town began to suffer for it.

The very balance of life and death trying to self-regulate until the town flora that stayed strong thanks to Jungwoo’s presence began to wilt and wither.

Mark apologized for it. Promised to make it up to him later. And then kept going.

Five weeks. Six. Two months.

Exhaustion dragged at Mark like a physical weight—wet sheets wrapped around his body and tangling at his feet, trying to pull him to a stop. His magical reserves were dwindling, nerves and core burning with the strain, vast pool of magic being put to the test. If he rested, it’d replenish. But he couldn’t do that. Not yet.

After, when he’d tested the extent of how much magic loved him, how much it had truly chosen him, then... _then_ he could stop.

Until then, he’d keep going, and hope the repercussions of going against the universal flow wouldn’t leave this all meaningless.

◖◗

Three months, four days, six hours, and twenty-two minutes.

That was how long it took for Johnny—frozen in time through layers of preservation spells Mark had heaped on him—to come back.

Mark felt it along their bond first, the seal at the base of his spine humming, sending tingles skittering up his back and down his limbs that dragged him up from where he’d been sunk in Limbo, the magical pillars rooted there which he’d been in conversation with having faded just as the sensation started.

He felt like a string of fairy lights had been lit under his skin, the soft, growing glow of magic tugging him closer to where Johnny’s own magic was calling, coming back to life.

Finally. _Finally_.

Mark reached for Johnny’s hand, curling his fingers around his familiar’s larger palm, squeezing to feel the cold receding away as blood began to flow once more, bringing color to Johnny’s skin. 

Johnny’s magic jumped to greet him. A weak stem slowly unfurling into a full flower.

Johnny’s fingers twitched, his chest moved, air stirring in his lungs. Mark’s heart _ached_.

Mark moved to press their foreheads together, so that when Johnny opened his eyes—irises glowing a pale, precious yellow in the fading evening light—Mark was there, ready to cradle his cheek and shower him in gentle kisses.

“You left me,” Mark said, voice cracking around the lump of emotion lodged thick in his throat. “You said you wouldn’t leave me.”

Johnny blinked slowly, tilting into the press of Mark against him, puffing out a breath that would have been a sob if it were any louder. A rare show of pain that made Mark _hurt_.

“‘M sorry,” he breathed, voice rough from disuse.

Mark gave a slow shake of his head, eyes burning—too much emotion swirling through him to swallow down. “It—it wasn’t your fault.”

Johnny sighed, a small frown beginning between his brows. “Still...”

“It wasn’t.” Mark pressed a kiss to Johnny’s lips, willing him to understand that _none of this_ could ever be _his_ fault. If anything, it was Mark’s. Or fate’s. Whatever had bound Johnny to a life lived alongside a warlock constantly targeted by those with ill will. “You’re back. That’s all that matters.”

The forming frown eased from Johnny’s features, a helpless smile free from teasing taking its place. “Okay.” A pause, then, almost reluctantly, “Do I want to know how you managed this?”

Mark smiled to match, tilting his head and brushing their noses together in a light bump. 

Mark thought of the bargain he’d struck to get Johnny back, of how he felt Johnny’s heartbeat alongside his own. Johnny’s thirst, his discomfort, every ache and pain. How even his magic felt like Mark’s, surging right alongside his own.

“No,” he said. “You probably don’t.”

Johnny licked his lips, the shadow of the touch echoing on Mark’s mouth. “Will you die?”

“Only if you do,” Mark conceded. The give and take of doing the impossible. The work-around of bringing a life back when the rules of magic said it couldn’t be done: turning two into one. “Which you won’t.”

Mark would make sure of that. He’d get stronger, build up the power the Assembly and their host of old families worried he would. He’d make their actions, their attempts on his life, a self-fulfilling prophecy.

He’d become what they feared.

And then...he and Johnny would be okay.

Johnny hummed, and Mark wondered how many of his thoughts he could pick up on now. If they felt like they were his own, running through his head as immediately as they did through Mark’s.

“Okay,” he eventually said. He kissed Mark again, the sensation doubled. “Okay.”

Mark’s smile widened, softened. Absolutely besotted.

They’d be okay.

◖◗

**Author's Note:**

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